Blood, Lead And Tears
by AbrahamDankby
Summary: What if Yokai took over the world after it was weakened from fighting World War Two? What happens when a slave turned soldier in this harsh life fights back and has to suffer the consequences of fighting an unfair war against an enemy that he cannot even comprehend.


**I do now own Rosario Vampire, it is owned by Akihisa Ikeda.**

A slave to a soldier, that's what he was. From carrying plates of lavish foods to his 'masters' in their diamond palaces to carrying a dirty rifle in a state of disrepair on blood soaked beaches. Running to their beck and call, but now he only ran to save his own life. He still could not decide which was the less pathetic option of the two.

On his left and on his right it was the same continuous story, the young being culled in droves. Too many to count. Their screams of pain and terror silenced by the gunshots and the storms.

Everything reeked of death and despair. The metallic taste of blood was in his mouth and was all he could smell. The world carried the scent of a factory of death. Blood running through the industry like that of steel had once before.

The sudden smash of the rough, dark sea water against his face suddenly broke his trance and he was right then and there more perceptive to his surroundings. If he did not know better then he would have thought that they were recreating a portrayal of 'D-Day'. Give or take the more extravagant firework display of various colours.

Through the shallow waters that he was currently on the verge of being consumed by, he noticed a rifle not too far away, probably not even his own. It probably belonged to the guy a few feet away from himself whom was trying to push his intestines back into his torso whilst trying to reconnect the two piece of his severed right leg back together.

Through the murky water just below he was able to his own hands almost buried by the few centimetres of water as they continually sunk slightly further into the dense, black sand.

He was able to drag himself to the dirty rifle as it seemingly tried to drift away. The fact alone that it drifted on the light shore was notable as it pointed towards its shoddy design. Every single weapon they had was repurposed from before and was hence relative to a hollow plank of wood that shot out slightly annoying metal pellets. It certainly did not help that ammunition itself was incredibly scarce which was understandable considering the circumstances of this world.

The rifle was luckily more or less unaffected by the water, which had become slightly thicker than it usually would have been due to the gallons of blood that had been poured into it by the piles upon piles of fresh corpses which littered the area like dead leaves in a forest during autumn.

The after pulling out the clip he was able to see that the clip was full with all thirty of its rounds. He slammed the clip back into the body of the rifle and chambered the round with surprising ease. He was not used to the rifles usually being this reliable. Although to be fair this was an 'M1918 BAR', this thing had definitely seen combat before, but who was he to judge a hardy old horse war that still had its kick.

To his left and to his right all he saw were the dead and dying, but there were those few who remained, and they charged forward without any fear for the end. And that's all he wanted to see, so at least he would know that those who he fought with were fearless and would not die weak if nothing less.

And with that he faced forward and charged towards the opposition. The heavy rifle providing labour for his arms, almost like continuously lifting a weight. Through the strange smoke he could barely make out anything except for the brief flashes of what seemed like contained lightning which marked out the shape of behemoths charging right for them.

The light gray skies above contrasted against the aggressive darkness straight ahead. But no one cared if they were to die then they were to die with dignity and to go down fighting. That was the point of this whole thing after all. So mission accomplished.

What seemed similar to old world artillery rained down on them, forcing the black sand into the air with force only to then rain down like hail.

After sprinting forward for two minutes straight they finally made it to the ominous smoke that clouded all that lied ahead. The adrenaline running through all of their systems ignoring the aching need oxygen that all of their lungs screamed for. Determination was all that they needed to breath at that moment and they had an abundance of that at the ready.

Even after the torrents of continuous attacks that flew their way a considerable force still survived the first wave, or at least preserved for the time being, the aforementioned adrenaline forcing them forward so that they may live to get the at least the faint scent of any small victory which they hoped to achieve.

Through the darkness they all knew what they were doing at least to some capacity. Shoot anything that resembles any kind of monstrosity and hope to whatever god remained that the bullets hit harder than they likely did.

This darkness was almost like having his eyes closed, he just continued to run and hoped that eventually his sight would be returned. The darkness made him think back to his first moments of fighting back. To the moments when any thought of any opposition was crushed. He remembered when was nothing was property. When they all were nothing but things to be owned and discarded when they outlived their usefulness.


End file.
